Like This
by AViewerLikeMe
Summary: "I've always thought you'd be a dream. Any of this. . .all of this. . .could have never been meant for me." Emotions run wild in the Morning After. Post-Season 7 Finale Oneshot.


_Disclaimer: I own nothing._

 _A/N: GoT is life. Jonerys is more life. Had to do it. That is all._

 **Like This**

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Was it truly love she felt with Drogo?

He was her sun-and-stars, the father of her child, and the catalyst for her evolution into the Queen she is today, but she can never forget the way she was sold to him like cattle, the way she stood shivering on the sea as he pulled hr arms away from her, ignoring her tears to bend her over. The burning between her thighs had barely receded before he took her again, the next night, the night after, always in the sam position, the same callous indifference to her tears. She had dreaded every single time the front of their tent flapped back to reveal his towering frame. It was only when she had learned to please him in a style he wasn't used to that he'd stop looking at her and actually saw her. But did he _see_ her? Nothing had changed but her way of coping. She was still his property. She was still meant to bear him sons that would grow to kill and raid like their father. Her life did not belong to her. She'd just learned to find pleasure in her fate.

She guesses it _was_ love, in its own way. But not like this.

Was there really true pleasure with Daario?

The strapping young fighter was vocal in his desire to fight for and bed his Queen as best he could. And being young and bored with no plans on marrying yet, she allowed herself to indulge in a purely physical relationship. They giggled over wine with banter, entangled in sheets from tents to the royal chambers in Meereen. He gave her a release in ways she hadn't allowed herself to enjoy in years. He fought faithfully beside her, and she knows he would have followed her to the ends of the Earth if she'd asked him too. But he was never truly hers to trust; she remained a Queen in his eyes, even with her hair disheveled and her eyes crusted from sleep. He had no real substance past his general charm and cleverness; thy never shared their pasts, their fears, their raw and vulnerable selves. She preferred it that way. Maybe that was why she felt nothing when she let him go. There was no real man to let go of. All that was left of him in her mind was a faint memory of a few unforgettably good nights.

So it _was_ pleasure, she supposes. But not like this.

She watched the chest of the man beside her rise and fall in slumber.

Nothing had ever been like this.

Almost immediately after the most emotionally charged lovemaking she'd ever had, their bodies were spent, and they could only think of sleep. The ship's gentle rocking kept them asleep through the creaks and bumps of the boat itself, but for Dany, being cradled in the warm embrace of Jon Snow was the reason she slept more soundly than since she was a child.

Where others' arms were always too hot for her, the King In The North is cool to the touch, soothing her skin like salve to a burn. His kind of ice isn't ice at all, but a gentle chill, like a welcome breeze on a hot summer's day. Judging by the way he'd buried himself inside her the night before, the way he sighed against her skin and relaxed his head in the crook of her neck, her own fire was just as soothing to him as his ice was to her. They'd melded together like melted wax, unwilling to part from each other even in slumber, so even now, their legs are loosely twisted around each other.

She'd woken up with her head on his chest, her hand stretched across him to lie over the stab wound that would have kept him from her forever. It's still so red, so raw, like it just happened yesterday. She's glad he's asleep; every time he sees her reaction to the scars, he goes from feeling insecure and ashamed to concerned and guilty when her eyes well up. He takes her by the elbows and squeezes, trying to comfort her, and then he says, "I'm sorry," as if it's his fault that he died, his fault that he was resurrected and that his scars still live on the haunt him to this day.

He hates himself, still, after everything he's done right, and Dany can't stand it.

Now, as she raises her eyes to his face, she notices that his bun has unraveled overnight, and his black mess of waves frames his face so well that she wonders what he's been thinking pulling it back. He looks so much younger now, with a face smoothed out by slumber, free of the worry lines and furrowed brow. His lips are still swollen from her eager kissing, licking and biting. She'd never tasted lips like his, felt such strong flesh between her teeth, a mouth that took control and gave it up at the same time. She shivers at the memory of his hands gripping her face like a lifeline, ghosting over her hair so as to not disturb her elaborate braids. The way he turned her on her back, the way he slipped inside without hesitation, the way he looked at her, breathing like he'd just been resuscitated. . .

Nothing has ever been like this. No one has ever been like him.

And speak of the King.

"Dany. . ." he mumbles, his eyes fluttering open to a slit. She quickly moves her hand away from his scar and instead strokes his hair out of his face. His eyes blink slowly before focusing on her.

"Jon," she whispers, a smile curling her lips upward.

He smiles sleepily, pulling her closer until she is flush against him. "Dany."

"Yes?" She stifles a giggle as he nuzzles her nose with his own.

"Am I dreaming?"

Her heart melts. "No. No, you are not." For good measure, she brushes her lips against his cheek, tickled lightly by the hairs of his beard. She feels his heart quicken beneath her, and is struck by the fact that she has never made a man's heart quicken beneath her touch, just by the innocence of a kiss to the cheek.

As his skin pinkens slightly, he mumbles in reply, "I've always thought you'd be a dream." His arms tighten around her. "Any of this. . .all of this. . .could have never been meant for me."

"Why do you say such things?" Dany asks softly, her eyebrows furrowed.

Through the croak of sleep, she can hear an age-old sadness creep into his voice. "So many of my dreams haven't come true. I dreamt of a mother who loved me. I dreamt of a sister who didn't learn to hate me. I dreamt of being my father's true born child. I dreamt of Lady Stark smiling at me, just once. I dreamt of joining the family at their table in the town dinners, instead of waiting out in the cold. I dreamt of being a Stark, and not a Snow. I dreamt of finding loyal family in the Night's Watch, finding answers North of the Wall. I dreamt of finding peace in my resurrection,after ending my Watch, after taking back Winterfell. . ." He stops himself, as if he thinks he's gone too long. "I dreamt of so many things, Dany. . .love was not one of them. It wasn't ever meant for me."

Dany blinks rapidly to stave off tears, resting her cheek on his shoulder silently, hoping the feel of her face against his skin can provide him with some comfort. "And now?"

He pulls her even closer. "Now I hope I'm not dreaming, for I want this so badly that I know someone or something will come to take it away from me. I was always in arm's reach. . .never in the palm of my hand. How can I hold on to something I've never deserved?"

The words hurt twice as much as any dagger to the heart. He has faced horrors any common man could never imagine or survive, and beaten the odds every time. He has been chosen by the people for the people, twice. He even won the hearts of her children. And still, _still,_ Jon Snow is afraid of being unworthy. Jon Snow, the King In The North who refused to kneel, can only comprehend The Dragon Queen loving him in a dream.

Jon Snow know nothing.

Dany throws caution to the wind and places her hand on the untouched skin over his heart. He tenses only slightly, but sh wants him to focus on the touch of her hand, to recognize that it is real. She pulls herself out of his embrace, only to straddle his hips and leaning over him.

"I was born without a mother or a father to love me," she tells him in a low voice. He's not yet heard the details f her harrowing life, apart from the speech she gave him at their first meeting. But perhaps if he knows more of it, he'll see the point she's making now. "My brother Rhaegar was already dead. All I had was Viserys, and whoever kept shipping us off the random places for safety. My only living brother was violent, abusive, and scarred me in more ways than I car to admit. He sold me to a Khal in exchange for an army. If I ever doubted how little I was worth, he helped take it away, when he told me he would let all 4,000 of the Dothraki fuck me, and their horses too, if it could get him his army."

Jon's hand tightens on her hips, his eyes flashing with fury, but Dany isn't done. "I spent the first half of my marriage being fucked into tears every night, without a word spoken between us. And it only changed when I learned how to please him. Only then did he love me. Only then did I learn to love him. And he was still the murderous, pillaging warlord he had been before. I could only earn to love my chains, and worm my way out of them, at least mentally. After both my husband and son were killed as punishment for his crimes, I walked into the burning pyre and walked out with my children."

A lump in her throat is growing, but she fights to keep her voice steady until she is finished. "Every man who has defied me, betrayed me, or tried to conquer me told me all of the same things; that I was just a dumb whore who didn't know her place, who couldn't possibly rule anything, who would never be able to Librate Slaver's Bay, or acquire armies that served me out of choice. They all offered me a chance to surrender, to be their wife or consort or whore. They're all dead now, but the words still stain my heart and they won't go away. I've had to take everything that was stolen from me, and I've had to be stronger, wiser, and more ruthless than anyone else just to stay alive. But nothing's changed. Not in here," she presses her free hand to her chest. "All the horrible things I was made to feel about myself, they haven't gone away, Jon. I had to force myself to ignore them, to stay alive. I didn't expect to have you see me," her eyes were welling up now, "and love me anyway. If anyone is dreaming, it is me."

They stares breathlessly at each other for a moment, and then Dany lowers her entire body across his, so their hearts beat against each other's skin, and their lungs expand and collapse together. Jon's face is a mixture of horror, compassion, and adoration. It's enough to make her choke on her words.

"You are the kindest, bravest, most honorable, most loyal, unique man I have ever known. You are beautiful from your resurrected heart to your scarred skin. I love everything about you, and I know I'll love whatever I find out next. There is no one you don't deserve, there is no happiness you're not meant for, and there is next to no one who deserves you, myself included."

A tear falls onto Jon's cheek from her eye, and she runs a thumb over to swipe it away, trying not to notice the glisten in his own eyes in case she breaks down sobbing. "Yet here you are, under me, over me, beside me, all around me, loving _me_ in all my gruesome, broken glory, and you have to ask if this is all a dream, because _you_ don't think you deserve it?"

She shakes her head, pressing her forehead against his, and his eyes close with a sharp intake of breath. "I let you bend the knee from your sickbed, and tell me the people would come to see me for what I am. Who deserves such devotion? No one but you can see me for what I am, and love me anyway. I said before that I hope I deserve the people of the North. I meant it. But more than anything, I hope, I _hope—"_ her voice finally breaks, causing Jon's eyes to snap open—"That I deserve YOU."

His arms wrap around her, trapping her snug in her embrace, and his bottom lip trembles at the sight of her, red-faced and teary. It touches her heart, but she has one more thing to say before letting go completely.

 _"Ñuha mērī dārys,"_ she cooes softly, "You are everything I've dreamed of. If this is a dream, then we will dream together, always."

Now there is silence. She breathes slowly, watching him star at her with such intensity it makes her skin chill. He flicks out a tongue to with his lips before asking hoarsely, " _. . .Ñuha. . .mērī. . .dārys. . ._ What does that mean?"

A watery smile grows on her face. "My only king."

He lets out a breath that sounds like a sob. "My Queen."

And with that, the frozen spell is broken, and he turns them over and covers his Queen in kisses, nibbles, and the never ending sound of that steady heat, beating just behind the wound that was meant to end it.

As her King's curls tickle her cheek and his lips worship her neck, Dany thinks, _Yes, this is love. Nothing could ever compare to this. Nothing shall ever have to._

Or so she dreams.

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End file.
